


Pillar to Post

by hybridshade (shimyaku)



Category: White Collar
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Canon, Angst, Awesome Peter, Coercion, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Hurt Neal, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manipulation, Slash, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 06:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1540985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimyaku/pseuds/hybridshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Neal bargains his release into Peter's custody, it's granted only with the proviso that Violent Crimes get to share him. Neal has no idea what he's gotten himself into.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pillar to Post

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** written for the [](http://wc-reverse-bb.livejournal.com/profile)[**wc_reverse_bb**](http://wc-reverse-bb.livejournal.com/) for the ever-patient [](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/profile)[**elrhiarhodan**](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/)s prompt and you can find her art post [right here!](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/435981.html)

 

"Well, that was fast."

Neal turned to Peter with curiosity, following his line of sight out across the buzzing White Collar office and straight to the elevators. Two suited-up agents had just stepped onto their floor, one of them a little older than the other and clearly also the one in charge. He muttered something which had the younger man straightening his back and nodding insistently, and then they were striding into White Collar like they owned the place, neither taking any notice of the interested looks of the other agents around them.

"They look like men on a mission," Neal smirked, the quirk of his lips sliding away when Peter didn't return the sentiment.

"You might say that."

"Whatever it is, you don't look too happy about it."

"That's because I'm not," Peter admitted, a dark shadow across his eyes. "The one in front there is ASAC Fowler. He used to do undercover work with the Organised Crime division – made a real name for himself, too. Then he transferred to Violent Crimes and he's been moving up the ranks ever since. To be honest, I'm surprised he actually bothered to come here himself and not just send his goon squad."

The fact that this guy even _had_ a 'goon squad' wasn't exactly encouraging, but _Violent Crimes_ was really all Neal needed to hear. Now he knew exactly why Agent Fowler was there, and it made his blood run cold. He looked down at the carpet and wondered if it was too late, or simply too childish, to try and crawl under Peter's desk and hide.

"They're here for me…"

"Yep. That was the deal. And Fowler isn't one for letting good opportunities fall by the wayside."

"I'm not sure I like the sound of being delegated to Fowler's 'good opportunities' column."

"Don't think I would either. But try not to worry too much, alright? We don't even know what he wants with you yet."

Peter pressed his palm comfortingly over the back of Neal's hand, its warmth spreading over Neal's clammy skin, and then suddenly it was gone again as Peter stood from his chair and moved to the door to let Fowler and his sidekick in.

"Agent Fowler, what a surprise."

Neal stood, straightening his suit jacket as Peter shook Fowler's hand.

"Peter Burke, it's nice to finally meet you. And this is my right hand man, Special Agent Davidson."

"Good to meet you," the other agent offered, before resuming his place at Fowler's back.

"Likewise," Peter replied, and Neal could see that little pinch at the corner of his eyes – the one that meant he was being anything but sincere. "And this is Neal Caffrey, who I'm sure—"

"Yeah, no introductions needed. Caffrey's the one I'm here for, after all."

"Oh, I didn't realise?" Peter's surprise was perfectly pitched.

"Yeah," Neal finally chimed in, "That's some pretty neat timing you've got there."

Fowler grinned, and Neal couldn't help the image of a toothy, smiling shark springing to mind. "I'm all about 'neat timing', Caffrey, as you'll soon find out."

"I see."

"I have to ask, then, since I thought we would be _notified in advance_ when Violent Crimes wanted to borrow our CI…?"

Neal hadn't expected that question. So maybe Peter was more suspicious than he'd been letting on? Not that Neal had a problem with that. In fact, he was all for Peter being suspicious. Suspicious Peter was wonderful.

"At any other time I would, of course, but since you've just closed a big case I figured I'd get him out of your hair. The paper work will be tedious enough without having to babysit at the same time, am I right?"

Grinning, his expression tight, Peter remained silent on that point. "Fine. If you wouldn't mind waiting at the bottom of the stairs, I just need five more minutes to clear a few things up with Caffrey."

It didn't take someone with Neal's sharp people-reading skills to see that Fowler was far from happy about having to wait to collect his prize, but still he acquiesced, taking Davidson with him as he left the room. Peter casually shut the door behind them, but noticeably kept his back to the outside.

"I know you're not happy about this – neither am I, especially considering Fowler's in charge – but remember this was the deal you agreed to. Just think, you're out of jail, you're on the tracker anklet, White Collar has principal custody of you and Violent Crimes only gets you 30% of the time."

"30% is more than enough to push a man like me to ruin."

Peter's lips twisted into a smirk. "That's oddly dramatic, even for you."

"Oh, Peter," Neal smiled, rolling his eyes, "I've only been in your custody for a matter of days and already it's like we've known each other forever."

"After everything you've put me through, it certainly feels that way."

 

~//~

 

It was edging on midnight as Neal was ushered into the back of a surveillance van, and he considered that that particular day must encapsulate just about the greatest downward slide a man could possibly experience. It was only that morning that he'd gotten up before the sun rose and run headlong outside of his radius and into Curtis Hagen's warehouse, Peter riding in with the cavalry not long after. To be honest, he'd thought Peter would be more cross about it than he was, so instead of a dressing-down he'd gotten a knowing smirk and the suggestion of making Neal's CI status a little more permanent. It was everything he'd been hoping for.

But then had come Fowler.

Of course, they hadn't known it was Fowler at the time. When Neal had made the initial suggestion that Peter should get him out of prison for the sake of catching the Dutchman, he hadn't put all that much thought into it. Merely that it would get him out into the world again, free of those drab grey concrete walls, and that if he could prove himself valuable enough there might be the chance of prolonging that 'freedom'. Peter had submitted the necessary forms for his release into White Collar custody less than a day after confirming the details of the Canadian security fibre that Neal had given him, and less than a few hours after that Peter had received a signed approval – with one unexpected condition.

Someone in the FBI had to have been tracking Neal's name in order to catch wind of Peter's application so quickly, and someone with special interest in the Violent Crimes division, no less. Peter had come to the prison first thing the next morning, and they'd both sat there in silence for a good ten minutes, struck dumb. A list that Peter had compiled of potential names for who might have been behind the one condition of his release had sat on the table-top between them, but none of them had caught Neal's eye in particular.

In the end he'd sighed and reached for Peter's pen to sign the papers with – spending a little time with Violent Crimes couldn't have been any worse than spending howevermany years in Federal prison, right? Peter had stopped him, though; putting both hands around the one Neal held his pen in and asking him to _please_ think things through first. It had been the first time Peter had touched him skin-to-skin apart from shaking his hand once or twice, and that moment of kindness and care had been enough to convince him that having 70% of his time under Peter Burke's watch would be enough to cancel out whatever shit Violent Crimes decided to subject him to.

That moment had led him to his re-entry to the real world, his fateful meeting with June, his successful aid in capturing the Dutchman, and then the worry in Peter's face when Fowler had finally revealed himself back in the White Collar office. In turn, those moments had led him to being there in the back of that surveillance van, Fowler and his two accompanying subordinates glancing at him like he was a fancy steak dinner. Someone else was up front driving the van, but Neal could neither get a look at the guy nor see where they might have been headed. It was all more than a little unnerving.

"Well, Caffrey," Fowler spoke up, "How you holdin' up? The boys back at VC treat you okay today? They're good guys, Caffrey. They follow orders, get the job done, and get home in time for dinner. A Supervisory Agent couldn't really ask for much more."

The _not like you_ was implied heavily enough it didn't need to be said.

"But then again I do ask a lot of my men. I expect results. I expect obedience without question… Even though I'm moved up a notch these days, my former team are still as loyal to me as they always were. Do you know what it's like, Caffrey, to have someone so devoted to you that they'd do anything you asked?"

Fowler was staring at him, eyebrows pinched, waiting for a response. Cold tendrils of dread wormed their way through Neal's body leaving his limbs feeling like dead weight.

"Course not," Fowler finished for him, "Trusting a convicted criminal that completely would be a challenge for anyone. But. Lucky for you, Caffrey, I know more about you than most. I know where you've been. I know you've got skill. I know you're a smart guy. I also know that since we're going to be seeing each other fairly often for the next while, a level of confidence needs to be established."

One of the two nameless men in the back of the van quickly moved to Neal's side, pushing a small bud into his ear and clipping a secondary device to the side of his tracking anklet. That couldn't bode well.

"That's where we're going right now, in fact." Fowler's smile deepened as a hard plastic case was set on Neal's lap, followed by a pair of black leather gloves. "To test your allegiance."

 

~//~

 

Neal wandered into the White Collar office, praying that the eye drops he'd used and the twin smudges of concealer under his eyes would hide the evidence of his lack of sleep the previous two nights. He even wondered if he'd ever be able to sleep _again_. The first night he simply hadn't gone to bed, sitting out on the balcony instead, shaking and shivering until the sun came up. Then the second he'd tried to drink himself to sleep, passing out a little after midnight only to be woken from a nightmare just a few hours later, gasping for breath, his throat dry and hoarse.

There'd been no hope of getting back to sleep after that, so he'd showered and dressed early, using the extra time to get himself looking some semblance of normal. The last thing he needed was people asking questions. Questions like that meant having to lie. And his brain wasn't exactly functioning clearly enough to weave his usual level of deception – Peter and Diana were far too sharp for half-assed half-truths.

He poured himself a coffee and headed up to Peter's office, sitting himself down and waiting for the other man to show. At least from here he had a decent view of the city outside, something to distract him from his thoughts. He nearly spilled his coffee all down his front, however, when Peter entered from behind, patting Neal on the back unexpectedly.

"Whoa, there," Peter said with a smile, "Feeling a bit jumpy today, Neal? Were those Violent Crimes guys so bad?"

Neal cleared his throat and got himself back under control.

"Nothing too crazy, Peter. Gave them a few tips about lock-picking, got a few in return about ballistics…"

"Sounds like you had a ball. But now that you're back here I've got something special to introduce you to."

"And what might that be?"

"The wonders of mortgage fraud." Peter pulled out a file, looking particularly pleased with himself. "All that excitement over at VC ain't got nothing on this."

The file was pushed across the desk at him and Neal flipped it open, a moment's glance telling him exactly how exciting mortgage fraud could be. Which was… not a whole lot. He flicked through a few more pages, looking at the columns and columns of bank transactions, his vision going a little hazy as he tried to focus on all the numbers he was seeing. A few more pages went by and then there were photos. Two men and a woman. Then pictures of two apartments and half a dozen houses. He picked up one of the photos and stared at it.

It was the front view of a townhouse. The walls of it were dark brick, with the door and all the window panes painted stark white.

Two nights ago he'd been standing out the front of a house that looked a lot like the one in the photo. They weren't the same house, but there were enough similarities that Neal felt something shift inside him and his hands start to shake. Peter was looking away at the computer so he quickly put the photo back down and closed the file, pulling his hands down beneath the desk just as Peter turned back to face him.

"Thrilling stuff, huh?"

"Enthralling. I can barely look away," Neal joked back.

A moment passed where Peter looked at him intently and his grin started to slip, Neal forcing his own smile to stretch even wider.

"Neal, are you okay? You look a bit pale suddenly."

"Oh, no, I'm fine," he brushed it off, hoping the sweeping gesture of his hands would cover their continued trembling, "Didn't sleep so well last night, but it's no big deal."

Peter wasn't buying it – Neal would've had to start doubting him completely if he did – but neither of them said anything further as Neal swiftly retrieved the file and his coffee and headed back down into the main office, sitting himself at the desk he'd been allocated several days before. He finished his drink in one gulp and took a deep, steadying breath. Everyone around him was doing their own thing, not one of them paying any attention to him. Which was exactly what he wanted, wasn't it? He could concentrate better without anyone looking over his shoulder. He could get that fraud case sorted, thereby keeping Peter off his back, and let the world keep thinking he had his mind on the job just like he was supposed to.

 

~//~

 

_"You're gonna do exactly as I say, aren't you?"_

_He nodded._

_His field of vision was filled with Fowler's face, as if the man was everywhere he looked._

_"You're my little monkey now, Caffrey. You're gonna jump through every hoop I tell you to, you're gonna use those talents of yours to accomplish whatever task I want done."_

_He nodded some more._

_He couldn't not agree. The price was too high._

_"That's right, monkey. You're mine now. Even when I send you crawling back to Agent Burke I'll still have you under my thumb."_

_His heart skipped a beat when Peter's name came up._

_He couldn't let Peter know. He just couldn't…_

_"It's almost adorable how much you respect that guy. A criminal like you respecting an agent of the law… Seems like he respects you, too. How sweet it all is."_

_Peter would never trust him again._

_Peter would never look at him again. Never pat him on the back. Never put his hands on his own._

_"Wonder what he'd think if he knew who you really were. If he knew what devil's seed spawned you, the filthy underworld that raised you."_

_Peter could never know._

_"You do exactly what I say and he'll never know."_

Neal choked and woke up coughing, grabbing the glass at his bedside and gulping down its contents.

His chest was still heaving and both his pyjamas and the sheets were stuck to the sheen of sweat covering his whole body. How long was he going to be able to keep this up? Fowler had shaken him to the deepest crevices of his soul – he'd be a fool to deny it – and the man's threats haunted him. He'd been threatened before of course. It was practically a prerequisite of his occupation. But never had the threat been as real as this one. As real as blood could be.

Accusations of supposed thefts, forgeries, fraud, that stuff a guy as quick-thinking as Neal could usually worm his way out of with pretty words and plenty of conviction. Real people were another story altogether. DNA, while an art form on its own terms, was not something that could be forged with paint or clay, or tweaked with the right tools.

And Neal? Neal was the one Fowler wanted to make suffer. And so far he hadn't found a way out.

He was due back at the Violent Crimes division that day. He'd had two more good weeks with Peter and the White Collar crew, bagging a bad guy at New York fashion week, recovering a precious bible, then Peter had received the memo that VC would be taking Neal back for a couple more days. Fowler's timing was uncanny.

Neal wondered what heinous crime he'd be forced to commit this time, whether it would be another black mark on his soul. There was a reason he was about as non-violent as a little old lady, and somehow it felt like Fowler _knew_ and was trying to use it against him. He wouldn't put it past the guy – for all that he clearly liked hearing himself talk he was also rather astute. Good at his job, too, since Neal had worked out that the surveillance van had taken him somewhere in Queens back then, somewhere right under one of the flight paths out of JFK airport, and while he'd checked every available avenue – including the computers in the White Collar office – he'd found no trace of any significant crime committed in that area on that particular night. Which was, no doubt, exactly what Fowler wanted. No trace, no evidence, never happened.

In the back of his mind Neal turned over his options.

He could always run. It was what he was best at. But now there were two agents who knew him far better than he could admit. One of them would catch him in the end, and the odds of it being Fowler – even at fifty-percent – were far too great for his liking.

There was also the option of going back to jail. If he ever mentioned such a thing out loud there would be questions. As an actual option he would have to go about it covertly, sabotaging his own good behaviour or some such. It was his most viable option, but would also lead to more questions for Peter, and being the good agent he was, he would probably see through Neal's charade at some point or other. Peter was irritating that way.

Then, of course, there was the matter of being subjected to Peter's disappointed face, and something inside Neal hardened at the thought of Peter being truly disappointed in him. That was something he wasn't sure he could deal with. Not even a little.

Which meant he had to hold it all inside, at least for now. He would do as Fowler told him and then deal with aftermath like he'd been doing for the past two weeks. Easy peasy.

 

~//~

 

A hand came down on his shoulder and Neal all but jumped from the sudden contact, sending his coffee mug tumbling onto the table top. The mug itself survived the fall, but its contents went splashing all over the chipped formica, dribbling down onto the floor.

"Jumpy much?"

He turned to find Jones there, staring at him curiously. And curiosity led to suspicion. Which was exactly what he didn’t need.

"Uh, yeah, was just miles away there for a moment. You caught me unawares. Good job."

Jones grinned smugly. "Well, look at that. A small fry agent like me getting the jump on Neal Caffrey. Who'd have thought?"

"Yeah, yeah," Neal huffed with forced amusement, "You got me this time but don't go spreading it around or anything. This was a one time deal."

"Uh-huh."

Jones left him be to clean up the mess, which thankfully didn't take long. Not that he minded it. Cleaning was soothing in its own strange way – Neal needed all the soothing he could get. He was jumpy more often than not these days, and while he'd made attempts to do some charcoal sketches and painting on canvas back at June's, he'd failed every time because of the on-edge shaking of his hands.

Really, it was only a matter of time before someone caught on.

 

~//~

 

"Can we talk?

Neal stepped aside to let Peter into the studio apartment, offering him a beer and following him over to the lounge area where they took their usual seats on either side of the sofa. It was going on five months since Neal had been released into White Collar's custody, and Neal felt they'd gotten to know each other pretty well in that time. At least, as well as Neal could _allow_ himself to be known.

"You've been off your game lately," Peter began, taking a sip of his beer and pointedly not looking away from Neal, "And don't patronise me with any of that 'don't know what you're talking about' guff. I know you – probably even better than you think I do. So talk to me. No judgement, off record."

Neal breathed deep through his nose.

"So you noticed that, huh?" He could practically feel Peter rolling his eyes. "Seriously, though… I've been barely sleeping. I'm anxious all the time. Things not conducive to good performance."

"Your mask has been slipping more than usual. That's why I got worried in the first place."

"And what did you see when that mask started falling away?" Neal tensed as he awaited the answer. Since that first moment Fowler had had a hand in his actions, he'd felt ugly on the inside. How that translated to the outside he had no idea, but it clearly wasn't good.

Peter slid a hand along the surface of the sofa cushions, stopping when only their fingertips were making contact. "The more I thought about it, the further back I realised you'd been holding that mask in front of your face. I have to ask you, Neal… Did something happen in prison that—?"

"No, no, Peter. It's nothing like that, I swear." _It's my mind being violated, not my body. Not exactly._

"Then what? Because I'm not leaving without an answer."

"I don't know what to say." Except that he did. Despite all his fears those words – his confession – were right on the tip of his tongue. "I- I can't—"

"Hey, now."

It wasn't until Peter shifted in close that he realised how badly he was shaking. Strong arms came around him and held him close, warmed him where Peter's body pressed against his own. It was the most intimacy he'd experienced in a timeframe longer than he cared to recall, and almost immediately his body started reacting. He hunched over further and kept fidgeting in the hope it would prompt Peter to pull away, but instead it only made him hold on tighter. Even to his own ears his subsequent sigh sounded like defeat.

And then the unbelievable happened. When Peter reached out to cup his jaw, turn his face and press their lips together, Neal couldn't help but freeze in shock. He'd been prepared for all sorts of reactions but a kiss wasn't one of them. And Peter didn't back away, either. He merely waited until Neal finally got with the program and kissed back. It wasn't heavy or passionate in any way, only gentle and caressing, and it continued until Neal was finally jarred out of the moment and quickly sat back from Peter's embrace.

"Peter, I-… Why would you—?"

"I… Sorry." Peter had the decency to look at least a little bit guilty. "This is about the worst timing possible, right?"

"You might want to explain that one, yeah."

Peter put his beer down and ran a hand over his face with a tired sigh. "Okay, so… After you turned up at my house that morning, looking all smug because you knew who the Dutchman was, Elizabeth made me put you on my cheat list."

Oh. _Oh._

Despite the previously heavy mood, Neal couldn't help but grin. "Oh, she did, did she? I didn't peg you for the type to have a cheat list. Elizabeth maybe, but not you."

"Once we got married she insisted. Up til now she's had four names and I had two."

"So it's four-three now, huh?"

"Nope." Peter smirked. "Five-three. I'm pretty sure she put you down on her list as well."

Well, didn't _that_ throw Neal for a loop. Not that he was complaining, oh no. "I'm touched."

"You better watch out, or you really will be. With actual hands."

"I'm intrigued. Although, if you're interested," Neal batted his eyelashes, "I'd be happy for you both to cross me of your lists at the same time…?"

Peter seemed about ready to choke, though the blown-out look of his pupils gave his true feelings away.

"Doesn't have to be right now," Neal said with a devious grin, "But you should bring it up with her. She seems like the daring sort—"

With one sudden move Peter had him on his back on the sofa, one of Peter's knees wedged between his legs. "You need to stop thinking about my wife. Preferably right now."

"Don't worry," Neal breathed, rocking against Peter's upper thigh, Peter's burgeoning hardness prodding the edge of his hip, "You fixed that up right quick."

 

~//~

 

They lay in the aftermath, Neal clinging to Peter's side.

Eventually Peter grabbed his hand and threaded their fingers together.

"You still won't tell me?"

"Peter. If you knew… there would be consequences."

"I can take care of myself. Not to mention, I can _help you_. With whatever it is. Anything at all. You just need to tell me. Don't you trust me, Neal?"

"Please don't ask me that."

Squeezing his hand, Neal turned his head into the fabric of Peter's shirt, the buttons pressing into his cheek. Never had he wanted so badly to confess his sins.

"All I want is your honesty," Peter admitted in a whisper.

"I can't give you that right now," Neal said, voice laden with regret, "I'm really sorry Peter."

 

~//~

 

It only took a second.

One second for Neal to catch the whisper-quiet _snick_ of the front door being closed, and the subsequent thundering boom of his heart lurching up into his throat.

He edged out toward the bannister, just enough to get a partial glance at the floor below, but it was enough. He'd know that square set of shoulders anywhere. He had no idea how Peter had gotten to this location, how he'd known that Neal would be in this particular house at this particular time, especially when the objective of this mission of Violent Crime's was actually in the one across the street. Sometimes Peter was just too clever for his own good. Too perceptive.

And that was how Neal had always known that this charade wouldn't last forever, no matter what he'd tried to convince himself to believe. Peter was a bloodhound, would always sniff out the truth in the end.

And yet, for all his foresight, Neal had never actually considered that this sort of moment might occur. He'd never chewed over all the possibilities the discovery of him in action would bring. The look on Peter's face – would it be anger? Disappointment? Hurt? What would he think of Neal afterward? Would he treat him like the criminal he was? Forget those intimate scenes on Neal's sofa a mere week ago?

Then there was the matter of Neal's future. The ramifications of being found out. There was no telling what they would be, how serious the fall, how painful the crash when he hit the bottom. One thing he knew for certain - it was going to hurt.

From behind him there came the creak of a floorboard, and Neal spun around like a whip, gun unconsciously aiming at his enemy's chest. _Peter's_ chest.

Neal's aim wavered and he had a moment – a moment of his life flashing before his eyes – sudden and unexpected. So many points in his life had led him to this moment. Many of them points he had no control over, many of them bad choices he'd made, choices he'd made where he'd been certain there was no real alternative. But still, he'd made them.

Peter's eyes were dark under his furrowed brow, and Neal held a finger to his lips just in the nick of time. He pointed to his ear, imploring Peter to see, and then the crackling voice was back, asking him what the hold-up was.

"It's nothing," he replied to the microphone clipped to his wrist, "Just the cat. It must not have eaten the special treats I left it."

Peter's eyes went wide, and his expression softened in understanding, calming Neal in turn. He mouthed the word 'Fowler' and Neal nodded just the once. That was all Peter needed. 'Don't move' he mouthed next, pointing emphatically at Neal's person, then he turned and hurried back the way he'd come, reaching for his own comm. unit.

 

~//~

 

"So."

Peter stepped into the interrogation room, closing the door behind him.

"Fowler had some interesting things to say about you."

He couldn't help but tense, fingernails digging into the meat of his thighs. Surely it was all over, if Fowler had spilled everything? Which left Peter to find a nice way of letting him down gently, easing him into the idea of a life behind bars. Not even Peter, with all his pull within the bureau, could possibly save him from this particular fate?

"Of course, it could have been so much worse… If Davidson hadn't ratted on everything and every _one_."

"…What?"

Peter grinned. It almost made Neal angry how positive he was being about the whole thing. "Oh, you didn't see that one coming? Apparently he's been waiting for his moment to shine. Has whole dossiers worth of stuff that's going to grind Fowler down into dust. And that means… you're off the hook with Violent Crimes and you're off the hook in general. But. Not with me."

His head was spinning with so much confusion, Neal didn't know where to start. "Peter, I—"

"I wish you would have told me, Neal. Fowler told me who your father was – Big Jimmy Bennett of the Irish mob. Then Davidson told me how he held that over you, how he was going to tell everyone so they'd come looking for you. Hunt you down."

Neal slumped into the chair. "I didn't want you to know. My father was a cold-hearted bastard, used to make me watch him and his men do all sorts of sordid things when I was just a kid. I was smart enough to know what was what, though. Ran away soon as I could, knew enough to stay off their radar until they stopped looking. But… it wasn't them I was worried about. With Fowler, I mean. I worried more about what _you_ would think of me."

"You can't help your family, Neal."

"It's not just that, though. Peter, you saw what I was intending to do in that house… And that wasn't the first time."

Peter sat himself across the table and reached out to take hold of his hands.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Neal."

"I know what I did, Peter. It was—"

"It was all for show, is what it was," Peter cut in, his voice more serious than it had been before, "Davidson explained it to me. None of the people you thought you shot actually died. In fact, they weren't injured in the slightest. What you also didn't know was that Fowler's mentor in the bureau was killed by Big Jimmy's lot. He's been harbouring that hate for a long time. He just wanted to make you suffer."

Neal could feel himself shutting down – bodily and mentally. The anxiety, the nightmares, they'd been chipping away at him for months. And for what? Some wretched practical joke of the lowest order? He didn't know how to process that. It was sick. It was a stone, sitting heavy in his gut, and it was going to take some time to crumble away.

"I need to—"

He started to get up, only to stumble over his own feet. And then Peter was there to catch him.

"Let me help you, okay? Let me actually help you."

He couldn't do anything but nod. "Just take me home, Peter."

"That I can definitely do."

 

~//~

 

Neal felt the bed shift and he turned to face Peter, lying across from him and still wearing his shirt and tie.

"You'll get through this, you know." Peter's voice was low and calming. "You've got June, Diana, Jones, the little guy, El… and me, of course."

"I feel like you've got more faith in me than I've got in myself," Neal said with a heavy sigh, "I'm still a convicted felon with a leash on my ankle. I occasionally wonder if you've forgotten that part."

"Don't worry, I haven't forgotten. But then, I _know_ you. I get you, Neal. That changes things."

"It's amazing what you learn about a guy after chasing him round the world for several years."

"That's for sure." Peter couldn't hold back a grin. "You learn even more chasing him around New York with a leash on his ankle."

 

~/end/~


End file.
